Poemsby Emily Dickinson
I gave myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way.
The wealth might disappoint, Myself a poorer prove Than this great purchaser suspect, The daily own of Love
Depreciate the vision; But, till the merchant buy, Still fable, in the isles of spice, The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, 't is mutual risk, - Some found it mutual gain; Sweet debt of Life, - each night to owe, Insolvent, every noon.